


Bon Appetite

by ponfarts



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Cooking, Drabble, First time cooking, Fluff, M/M, Robots attempting to cook, cute boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 14:43:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1782733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponfarts/pseuds/ponfarts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not everyone is good at cooking the first time around; not even a super computer in the form of a human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bon Appetite

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Madi for being my muse for this! I know it's short, but it's the first piece I've written in months.

Light streamed through the windows of John’s bedroom. The dust practicals that were caught in the stream of light danced around in the slow movement of air, like buoys in the sea. He watched them, as sleep slowly crept out of his body and memories of the night before came to the forefront of his mind.

_Slow kisses, heated, sweat slicked skin against cool, faux skin, that looked and felt so real under John’s touch. Moans mingling with lazy curses of pleasure and impatience, yet never met with a rushed movement. Dorian’s name was on John’s lips like a prayer, pleading and desperate with want and desire._

John rolled onto his side with a soft grin, his hand slipping from where it rested on his stomach to the empty side of his bed. It was cool, as it always was. Dorian didn’t give off heat, which didn’t concern John, because while the bad remained cold, there was an ever present mark where the mattress had formed around Dorian’s weight.

John’s eyes closed for a moment, taking in the comfort of his bed, the warmth of the covers that draped over his body. He breathed in, fighting the urge to fall back into the ease of sleep. Something pulled him from the serenity of his bed. It was a pungent, sharp smell. It drifted into his room from the kitchen.

“Dorian?” He sat up, tossing the covers from his leg. The only answer he received was a metallic clatter of pans. He staggered up, moving his way over to the table where he kept his leg. He settled his weight into the false limb, giving his body only a moment to adjust before limping out into the living room. He glanced around, his heart dropping when he caught sight of smoke, snaking its way out of the kitchen.

Darting into his kitchen, (as quickly as his leg would carry him so early in the morning, that is) his eyes fell on Dorian. He was standing next to the stove, silhouetted behind smoke that seemed to have found a home in a frying pan on John’s stove.

Dorian’s back was ramrod straight as he turned to John, eyes soft and apologetic. John canted his head, looking between Dorian and the stove.

“What are you… are you cooking?” John leaned on the nearest counter, taking some weight off his leg. Dorian glanced behind him.

Dorian gave a small movement that John took as a shrug. “I think ‘attempting to cook’ would be a more accurate statement.” He turned back to the stove, reaching up to push one of the buttons. The stove chirped off, but the pan remained smoking on the top. John chuckled and rounded the small island counter that separated the two.

He reached around Dorian, his arm brushing his back as he lifted the pan’s lid from the counter and dropping it on top. He noticed smoke squeeze its way from the joint between the lid and pan, feebly trying to escape the space it was now trapped it.

“And what, exactly, were you _attempting_ to cook?” John smiled a crooked grin at Dorian, waiting for his reply.

“It was supposed to be an omelette, but…”

“It didn’t really turn out like that.” John finished.

Dorian gave a small huff, turning and sliding a book toward him. “I followed the directions precisely, John. I’m not sure what I did wrong.” This gained a laugh from John, causing Dorian to give him a questioning look.

“You can’t follow what a book says to do, bud,” John patted Dorian’s arm with another, softer laugh. He closed the book and slid it back across the counter.

Dorian’s face flickered blue. “But the directions…”

John shook his head. “No, no. Cooking is about intuition. Besides, a cookbook is just a fancy name for a manual. Nothing that comes out of a manual is ever good. Though, I bet this would have been good.” John lifted the lid of the pan, letting out a few tendrils of smoke to eye the blackened remains of eggs and some other ingredients.

Dorian let a silence lapse between them for a moment. John watched Dorian’s face, as Dorian eyed the pan with disdain.

“Hey,” John reached up, turning Dorian’s face toward his. “Whether you burnt it or not isn't what matters. I still appreciate the gesture.” John flashed a smile before leaning down, pressing his lips to Dorian’s with a quiet hum.

Dorian reached up, laying his hand over John’s, the bio-scanners in his hands flashing blue at the contact. John pulled away, with a small noise of protest from Dorian, his grin returning to his face. “Now, what do you say to me teaching you how to really cook?”


End file.
